


notos

by futile_devices



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Alternate Ending, M/M, No Angst, Radiant Dawn Spoilers, but thats just how i write, i forget that these two are spoiler heavy charas..., im going to apologize firstly for putting this into the fe3h tag, its soft and fluff, lots of references to songs by mainly the oh hellos in this one i think, oh sorry oh, okay maybe i have a thing for putting flowers in ur s/os hair, u kno the normal pining that comes with them, written before i knew war phase was a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 06:01:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19882792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futile_devices/pseuds/futile_devices
Summary: in which lehran and zelgius survive the tower of guidance and decide to begin a new life elsehwerewherever elsewhere is though is up for interpretation[a few oneshots about lehran and zelgius in fodlan as students]





	notos

**Author's Note:**

> one, this was originally was a joke between a friend and i but we got too attached  
> two, i was going to make this an actual series but i dont have the motivation right now, but i may in the future, and if so ill edit for chronology but at this point i just wanted to get these out before i forgot about them  
> three, i wrote this around late may early june so if for some reason theres outdated terms, thats why  
> four, yes i always have to write a scene about them getting past the whole master/servant dynamic. i wrote this before i wrote the one in come into the water so if theres similarities there thats why 
> 
> thank u for reading as always <3

The rainfall is unceasing. Down and down it pours, enough so that the world itself seems to be flooding and only their vessel surviving it, as if all of Tellius were the wooden construction and Ashunera struck with grief once more. The winds are unceasing. If they even remain on course (which is such an uncertain thing, given that they do not know _where_ their voyage is to end), Zelgius does not know. They are battered, swept away by the bellowing gales that puff up their sails. From time to time they catch a large wave that rocks them back and forth. From time to time, thunder rolls across the horizon, booming and yet distant, a frightening whisper, a sort of haunting tune that reappears in your mind each time you believe you have forgotten it. 

Why either of them are on the deck is beyond Zelgius. The winds nor the rain have died down, and there they are, drenched in cleansing waters, and shivering. Yes, shivering. Lehran more than Zelgius (though for however much a Daein upbringing he might boast of, both had acclimated to the more temperate Begnion), but shivering both as the wind catches their hair, tangles in each tress, dances in each line of dark and thoroughly messing up both of them completely. It is cold by all and any right, and they _should_ be in their cabins, or at the very least in the hull. But they aren’t. 

Lehran’s gaze is held to the horizon. The darkest blue of sea hanging just below a storming gray, and beyond that, nothing. The world seems to end at that line where the sky mingles with water, a set of fear sinking down in the water’s depths, an anchor nestling itself in the sand far far below. To one, however, who has seen the beginning of the world and sought the end of it, the thin dividing line is not the end of the world but rather its dawn. The sun will rise, crawling up from the darkened bitter water and shine anew. Even if he wanted it to end, to fall off into oblivion, the world was not made to be so kind, so easy in self effacing wishes. The world will go on. Something like the world could not simply end. Perhaps the sea will continue endlessly, perhaps they will find themselves upon the shores of Crimea once more, or perhaps they will find that flood waters receded, that continents have risen from Ashunera’s grief and have prospered. Or perhaps they will find some growing island all for themselves and dedicate themselves to whatever projects they must undertake to survive. 

Zelgius is beside him at the railing and, after some deliberation and still standing hesitation, takes Lehran’s hand in his. 

Yes, whatever they will do, wherever they will inevitably end up, on whichever shores will take two repentant men, they will be together and that is more than they were ever promised in Tellius. As for whatever home they are leaving behind, how much could it have been called home? Begnion had been built upon lies, upon necessities for a desperate task, and yes, they will miss that daughter with golden eyes and sharp wit, but they had no place there. They were dead men at best, traitors at worst. Serenes was still recovering, little sprouts taking root over scorched earth and home to old friends and old enemies that they must leave behind. Daein, well, Daein had never been home, even when Zelgius was born, raised, taught, it had never. Perhaps it is easier to say home is something carried more than something known. Something that both carry in the company of the other, and how, then, could they ever be leaving home when they stand together under the same rain, in the same storm?

This ship, however, this ship, Zelgius wishes will never have to become home because there is little to do but think about scars still beginning to heal (quite figuratively and literally; each night Lehran must press his staff to a wound upon Zelgius’s chest and arm and Zelgius is sure to remind Lehran to apply the vulnerary to himself after the sage is done tending to him). 

They both should be dead, rotting in that tower where not even the crows could feast on them. Crows deserved better than them. And yet, here they are, sailing a world away in hopes of…

In hopes of what? 

Zelgius would answer quickly, redemption. Redemption for the sin he did not commit and all the ones he had. The one wish he had been born with. But perhaps it falls further than that. To make true all those little desires he had held in the darkest of nights, to be _happy_ in spite of everything the world is and everything they are. 

He could never say it was fair. The world never was, why would it begin now? 

It is a coward’s move, most likely, running away, but there had been nothing left but a world they were not welcome in, a world they did not understand, and would likely not wait for either of those to change. It was best, they reasoned, wounds still fresh and hiding faces under cloaks, to leave. There was nothing more for them. 

And all Zelgius had ever wanted is right beside him. 

It shakes him like the very dawn, that Lehran is here. That Lehran is alive. That Lehran had wanted to be here, shivering in the cold on a ship that could very well be leading to nowhere with him. That Lehran did not leave him. That Lehran did not take back his hand and instead lets them linger. 

Not out of any deficiency of his lord’s, no, for there had only been the truest and only compassion he had ever been shown, but of Zelgius’s own. His life had very little meaning other than a grand purpose that fell to failure and the sword arm of a young man; there was no reason for him to draw breath further. He would not have blamed Lehran for leaving him there, for saving himself and escaping to Serenes. In fact, Zelgius might have encouraged it had he not been on the brink of death and far from himself to deny anything of Lehran’s tears. 

(he only thought lehran was too beautiful to love him. lehran, only, was too beautiful to leave him)

Oh Lehran nearly was the death of him. He would let it happen a hundred times over. But it had no reason to be that way anymore. There is no reason for such extremes, not in the dawn of a new life. It might be better resolve to live for the other, to live with the other. That seemed much lighter, much more joyful, now that they are able to think of such trivial intents. 

“We should go below deck.” Zelgius says, releasing Lehran’s hand (however much he is loathe to do it) and beginning to walk away when Lehran holds his once more with pleading eyes. 

His cheeks are flushed, likely from the rain, and his body is shivering, but Lehran is smiling. Smiling so much that Zelgius has never seen before, that Zelgius almost forgets that they are cold and soaked through. He is stunned to silence. The next moment, a more, er, coherent and composed thought comes to Zelgius’s mind which is- “Are you well, my lord?” 

Lehran laughs at that. 

An answer enough for him, but before Zelgius can say anything more, Lehran’s smile falls to something more somber after a moment of thought on what he had said. “Zelgius, there is no more reason for you to call me that.” 

“My lord?”

A little bit of the grin returns. “Yes, exactly that. We are to live with each other in a new world; I am no longer Lord Sephiran and you no longer General Zelgius.” 

“I know.” Zelgius returns. “But Sephiran or not, if I am Zelgius or any other man, you are my lord. A new land will not change what you have saved of me. I could not- you are more than-” 

Lehran interrupts him, or rather, takes his other hand, which prompts Zelgius to stop whatever train of thought he had begun. “We are equals, Zelgius. You saved me as much as you might believe I did you. Perhaps even more than what you think of me.” He admits that, in the rain’s veil, in the presence of growing wind, in all those elements that could now sing of it once they stopped listening. 

“Equals.” Zelgius repeats, uncertain, treading upon the world as if it were new. 

Lehran takes one step forward as he echoes. “Equals, for both of us.” 

Yes, the dawn breaks his dark, shakes it like the very earth, turns it over like the waves, batters it like the wind, lets it burn and become ash, become memory as the water cleanses. 

But the winds themselves die down, the sea itself calming. Still not entirely still, but not as chaotic as it had once been. The rain, however, does not recede. Zelgius cannot tell if the shower falls lighter or not as his focus is centered elsewhere. 

“ _Lehran.”_ he begins, the name itself no longer something of divinity as it had once been, but rather normalcy and a soft affection. “I still believe we should return-” he raises one hand and gently lets go of Lehran’s to move a bit of his hair, plastered by the rain in the center of his forehead, back to the side. Zelgius’s fingers linger there, slowly trailing down to Lehran’s cheek. His heartbeat pounds with the rain, and he is not entirely sure what moved him to that action, but he somehow continues speaking. Slowed, though, still caught in the gravity of the touch. “-to our cabin.” 

“Yes, of course.” Lehran manages, after Zelgius’s hand returns to his side. 

And to think that Zelgius thought the actual voyage would be the most difficult part. 

* * *

the library is dimly lit, likely because the moon hangs rather high in the sky and everyone else at the academy is, rightfully so, asleep. though it is only fair then that the once prime minister and general of begnion should both find themselves in the light of flickering candlelight, leaning against a wall of books. 

lehran is content, seemingly, slowly flipping through a rather hefty tome ( _‘the influence of seiros upon the adrestian empire’_ ), but zelgius stares at the cover of a book ( _‘the ten great and their crests: a history of fodlan’_ ) blankly. they continue in silence until lehran comes upon a new chapter and turns zelgius for a moment. it isn’t as if the lack of words drew any line between them. it is comfortable in the way that they could only be in the presence of each other. that is easier to admit here, a large ocean away from tellius and the lives they once led. but worry would always stay, of course, because for however far away they were from tellius, those memories would never, could never, should never leave either of them. 

_‘zelgius?’_ lehran’s voice calls out softly, barely even a whisper, barely even a thought, but of course, he hears it. its strange enough that they didn’t invent pseudonyms other than the old house lehran claimed he belonged to and the family of farmers zelgius hailed from in a island far enough off fodlan’s coast to be relatively unheard, but that is alright. most likely because zelgius could not for longer bare to call his lord by any false name. 

of course, they had reasoned to cast that aside as well, because this was voluntary. there was no higher or lower anymore. they both resolved to set sail to a land no one knew existed if only to be free for when their lives did not allow them to (they knew they would not be safe in tellius for long; secrets rarely stay hidden for long). of course, as well, zelgius still falls into that routine. he had said it once in front of fellow students. it was difficult to explain how a student from the blue lions would call a student from the black eagles ‘master’ and not belong to the same team. lehran had conjured some explanation that zelgius cannot honestly remember because his focus was instead turned to lehran himself and the slightest tinge of red upon his cheeks (a sign that they were changing, he took it, that soon all the walls and guards they placed in a world they sought to cleanse would fall down; he found it endearing in a way he could not readily admit). 

zelgius sighs, and it is strange, too, to feel so young when they are anything but. especially surrounded by those so young and eager, but it feels fitting in a way. perhaps this would be their rebirth and they could be young again. they could be young at all, since neither of them can say their youth was rife with any sort of gentle joy. _‘do you dream about it too?’_ it is a silly question because zelgius knows the answer. death is not something so easily forgotten. 

but lehran still nods. _‘of course.’_ and he moves closer, which is only a small amount of space being fair, till the two of their sides are touching. lehran places the book in between the both of them, a sort of offer that zelgius takes. 

_‘i had not been paying attention when the professor was explaining.’_ he admits, which brings a teasing smile upon lehran’s lips. 

_‘the great general zelgius, not paying attention to the words of his superiors. how strange, don’t you think?’_ holding onto those titles, though, felt like a secret between them, a lifetime only the other knew of. no, they didn’t need any proof of who they were to each other, but it was still nice to feel and speak it. 

zelgius sighs, but chooses to play along. _‘i assumed one of the sainted would surely understand another religion more than i.’_

_‘so you decided that i would be the one to help you with your studies, general?’_

_‘you have always helped me with everything.’_ and that comes out far more vulnerable than zelgius intends. _‘need i remind you the reason you were able to pass the basic sword examination.’_ he reaches over the tome and flips the page, but lehran takes his hand before he can return it to his side. its natural in the way their fingers intertwine, but they don’t speak of it, of course. 

lehran begins speaking of the archbishops of seiros, but even then zelgius doesn’t pay attention to the words he speaks more than lehran’s voice. perhaps he would be able to sing again, eventually. 

but eventually zelgius finds himself leaning against lehran, and slowly then after that, falling asleep. 

* * *

sunlight filters in from the paned glass above, arcing across the academy’s greenhouse. vines crawl up the marble columns as if they too are reaching out for the light. the area has a sort of otherworldly atmosphere, gentle and blithe, shielded away from any horror the outside world might have to offer. the world inside is warm and bright, pure and delicate where any sort of thought could take flight without restriction, any heart could sing without being asked for silence. 

all the flora, as well, is like a dream. some hang from above in little baskets, others on the rows of tables, or even the lily pads resting above the (likely magically made) pond in the center of the greenhouse. zelgius knows that more than anything this is a practical construction, that the beauty of it is merely a side effect and most of the plants grown are to be edible and not merely for show. some rows he passes with little signs naming the cabbage, chickpeas, and… whatever fodlan west flowers are. there are some familiar names but others far more new to him. being fair, he had never paid much attention to flowers or anything of the like (other than the wistful thought of his sister and yellow roses, though he doesn’t remember _why_ the two are connected in his memory). he could name roses and possibly tulips, but anything else is far beyond him. 

regardless, he did not need to know what they are called in order to enjoy them. perhaps things are better loved when they are unnamed, he thinks, carefully caressing the petal of a bell shaped flower, painted a deep violet. perhaps things are better loved when the world is as simple as the confusion in such a trivial thing like nomenclature. when there are no fires raging, no cities drowning in blood, nothing of sorrow other than a lower than expected grade (which in truth means very little to him). it is so blinding that the world he left seems more a dream than the life he once led. hateful and scorning waters no longer crash against him, but gentle and sparkling ones embrace him. he does not know if that has a name either. 

redemption, perhaps. maybe he could name a flower that as well, the kind that only bloom at night. that seems fitting, zelgius thinks, for something rare and beautiful that can only be achieved in the wake of sorrow. 

he wonders if they have those here too, and if the both of them could watch as their petals unfold to the song of the moon. 

there’s the fluttering of doors opening and it is far too easy for zelgius to remember the divinity he once placed in those eyes of emerald green. no, there isn’t anything different per se about lehran, other than a gentle smile as their gazes meet. but zelgius knows now why the sun exists. 

lehran turns his head for a moment, looking over the rows of leaves and petals and their kaleidoscope of color, then returns to zelgius. “felix said you wandered in here. i almost didn’t believe him.” 

zelgius’s laugh is soft, though everything under the glass roof seems to be, as if it does not allow any harshness to flourish. “likely he thinks it a weakness, to wander in here for a quiet moment. i should be training, in his eyes.” 

lehran looks amused at that, more of a grin taking shape on his lips rather than a simple smile. “i am not certain if he could… handle if you truly practiced.” a gentle pride, one of a lifetime past that still existed, that could never die even if they tried to kill it. they will always be the prime minister and general in some part of themselves, however deeply buried, but that did not need to always be a tragic thing. 

“no, but the youth are young and they rarely stop at obstacles.” though, both of them know that, zelgius knows that, in the eyes of a boy he wronged in the worst way imaginable, but it falls upon a simpler line in this existence. “regardless, these flowers are better company than swords.” _and so are you._ zelgius nearly says, he _could_ say it; the flowers would not find it wrong, but he doesn’t. 

someday, he will lay the blade to rest. someday he will leave all the blood behind and let it wash away. it is better now, though, and he still has a promise of protection. he will always have someone to protect, but never on the lines of knighthood or chivalry (it had taken far too long for him to realize such a truth). no, not duty or obligation, but desire and care. the world is uncertain, even in this halcyon, but if it turns, then there is nothing for him to do but protect the one he loves most. it had always been that way; zelgius simply never knew. but he is not a commander at war anymore, he is not a general in name, and that sea of corpses will never be on his hands anymore. it will never, this he vows. 

“they’re lovely.” lehran stops at a little white rose and picks it before zelgius can object. “i hope i am not interrupting your quiet moment.” 

there’s a few options here. 

“you could never, lehran.” that’s as bold as he can go. (the line of ‘ _i would let you interrupt any moment’_ is too, er, yeah. its too much.) 

“i may have to test that sometime.” zelgius thinks his laughter is something like a melody, the kind he could listen to anytime. “may i?” lehran lifts the rose in his hand to clarify the question, and zelgius nods. his fingers deftly tuck the rose behind zelgius’s ear, brushing some of his hair back. 

_i love you._ zelgius thinks, likely the first time he had actually put that to thought in word. into simple thought and word. he knew it before, of course, but always behind long winded reasons buried deep within his soul and laying on the top of his heart. 

  


lehran seems to stop for a few seconds, the pointed tips of his ears turning a sort of reddish color. “i love you too, zelgius.” and he says it as if it were something he always said, always thought, as if it was simple and did not take a lifetime to be able to speak of it. zelgius would always like to hear it, he thinks. 

but he didn’t mean to say it outloud, which leaves him more stunned than lehran. he didn’t think he _could_ say it outloud, let alone hear it. he doesn’t regret it, he would never, it is merely more surprising that something only realized with such long thought could take flight without any. perhaps it is because it, in the end, is so very simple. 

“i love you.” zelgius echoes, saying it this time consciously, though some part of him knows that lehran knew, that he always did. he had no need to say it, but that part of him wanted to. he wanted to because he _could_. 

“i love you.” lehran repeats as well. “i will always.” 

“i have always.” zelgius confesses. he turns to that same rose bush, plucking another white rose and following the same steps as lehran did. “i would do-”

lehran interrupts him with a hand on his cheeks and a kiss on his lips. delicate and chaste, not lasting any longer than five seconds. “i know, zelgius.” 

* * *

zelgius’s hands hover above the base of lehran’s wings. the little hollow where the black feathers begin. he assumes they were larger, wider in a time before he paid the price of his love. there had been a time where zelgius had only wanted to see lehran then, at his height; perhaps he would have looked more of a god, obsidian stark against the blue sky. as boundless as the tapestry above them, but now, zelgius thinks, he is more blessed to feel each withered feather if only because now lehran smiles in truth, in his eyes as well as his lips. he is more blessed to see lehran as he is now, perhaps half the heron and half the man he once was, because zelgius is the only to see him like this. a selfish secret he holds at his chest along with the echo of the most obvious thing in the world. 

and he would not let lehran have to bind his wings so often without airing them as he had in tellius (that fortnight of imprisonment still weighing upon him), so it is a routine they fall into, in whoevers dorm is most likely to be empty for longest, or on walks in the forests near garreg mach. their only cost to freedom, one that lehran always tries to wave off with a gentle smile, only to meet zelgius’s insistence. it has always been easier to hide his own brand than lehran’s. 

lehran’s fingers absentmindedly run through his hair, losely braiding the long wave that falls along his left shoulder. barely a hum, but there is a song that takes flight there as well. zelgius hopes someday, however foolishly, that he will be able to sing again in full, that the joys of a new land and love could heal the pain the goddess had thrust upon him. it is difficult to say if he could ever heal, truly, after nearly a millennium of strife and sorrow, but zelgius _hopes_ because he has only ever wanted for what lehran is deserving of. 

but pain here has been rare; the most difficult of mountains had only been memorization of a new history, though perhaps it is only expected of men such them who were the height of power in their time. the professors had been impressed when they first saw zelgius’s form in battle and lehran’s prowess with a tome (reason and faith, they called it here, strangely) to the point where they tried more to lessen their skill rather than improve it. it would not be fair, they reasoned, to take away any opportunity for those actually aiming to do well and not their own strange form of atonement in peace. they have nothing here, and that is why they stay. there are no strange looks, no threat of hatred for a little mark on his back. 

no, only the fear of someone seeing the black little feathers that are scattered upon lehran’s bed. even then, neither of them know what they would do, though, zelgius supposes, it would be the students more so who did not know what to do. 

lehran’s breathing catches when zelgius’s fingers return back the wing’s base, pressing into it, then rolling in a sort of circular motion. it falls to something labored but still quiet. though, it is a bolder move on zelgius’s part when he leans forward to feather a soft kiss upon the bare skin of his shoulder. there is a light scar there, as there are elsewhere, jagged edges that paint the heron’s body, memories of desperation and pain and sorrow and hopelessness and an all consuming flame. perhaps he thinks to erase it all with each kiss, but zelgius knows that to be impossible. there are some things one never forgets, no matter how unconditional one’s love and devotion could be. 

he cannot see lehran’s face, of course, in the way they are positioned, but zelgius wishes he could. the slight upturn of his lips, the gentle gaze that in zelgius has never felt anything less than needed and loved, the few strands of hair that escaped the braid and frame his countenance, then he would tuck those behind lehran’s ears (pointed again, which are usually hidden by the cascading wave of ebony, but zelgius finds more than charming) and-

the door knob turns.

it seems to take an infinity for the door to creak open, but even then it is not enough for lehran to retract his wings in time nor zelgius to resume a more upright position. even then, they were closer to each other than they normally preferred to act. it was an easier pretense to keep than it was in begnion where the punishments far grander. but even still, how were they to explain the feathers?

(their closeness most likely needed no explanation. it was quite obvious already, for all the time they spent together despite their different houses.) 

zelgius does not remember the name of the student who walks in with a question already loud on their lips of _‘i hope you’re not busy, but i was wondering if you had the no- oh.’_ their eyes widen and then narrow in the next moment. _‘are- are those wings?’_ the student (oh dear goddess what was their name? he feels horrible for not remembering, even though he was certain they had a few courses together. was it something with an a? though, there are larger problems) takes a step back. 

but perhaps it is easy to forget that they were entrenched in the politics and artifice of the cruelest empire on tellius. _‘yes, they are.’_ lehran answers far more confidently than zelgius would have imagined, or would have in general. _‘are they not lifelike enough? zelgius was kind enough to… help me with their construction. isn’t that thoughtful of him?’_ there is a slight teasing in his last sentence, an underlying tone that only zelgius would catch. of course. 

the student nods, but uncertainty still is written all over their face. _‘y-yes, i suppose.’_

_‘there were many ravens where i came from.’_ zelgius lies, attempting to pick up the story lehran gave for him. somehow it was far easier to lie about murder and the planned destruction of the world than their gentle touch and black wings. he imagines a little farm, with his mother and father and two siblings, and a fence where little black birds would perch, cawing ceaselessly till his older sister would go out and shoo them away. sometimes, maybe, they would come up to zelgius, drawn to the gleam of his silver blade, and they constantly pester him. _‘so my- lehran asked for my help. it was far easier to make than he will tell, i assure you.’_

lehran smiles. _‘there is no need to be humble, zelgius.’_

but the student still. _‘can… can i ask why? why do you want wings- i don’t get it.’_

_‘oh? have you not heard of the-’_ oh he loves lehran. it is so simple in this moment, but zelgius wants nothing more than to hold him, kiss him, touch him. but their classmate was still there and lehran still conjuring up some excuse. _‘tale of the black heron and the black knight?’_

_‘n-no. that doesn’t sound like a seiros-’_ sure, everyone knew the transfers were… odd, to say the least. at least they weren’t boring.

_‘well, no, it wouldn’t. it is a legend from where we hail. the black knight was sworn to protect the black heron throughout all lifetimes they shared. they never forgot each other, even after rebirth. zelgius and i decided that for the festival they would be our costumes.’_ lehran’s hand brushes against zelgius’s, a tiny declaration of love. 

the student nods. _‘o-oh… i’m sorry for interrupting then, please exc-’_

but lehran waves his other hand. _‘no, no, what is it that you came in here for? you wanted something?’_

_‘the notes from professor hanneman’s class.’_

it is zelgius who speaks now, and not lehran. _‘you should ask sylvain.’_ did he know if sylvain was even in that class? no. did he even remember anything about sylvain other than his name? no. _‘i asked to look over them after class ended; he had even more than what hanneman spoke of.’_ was it only an excuse to get their classmate to leave? absolutely. 

their face lights up a little. _‘okay, thank you.’_ they nearly walk out the door before peeking their head back in for one final comment. _‘good luck on the rest of the costumes.’_

lehran waves with that same gentle smile and gives a quiet thank you as well. 

the moment they are down the hallway, zelgius stands up to the door and closes it. and locks it. _‘my apologies, i thought i had-’_ but lehran is standing up as well, and cuts zelgius off with a small kiss. 

_‘we’ll remember next time, then.’_

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
